


Opportunity

by dustandroses



Series: Prag [1]
Category: Oz (TV)
Genre: Canon Relationship, Character Study, Character of Color, Community: oz_magi, Ficlet, M/M, POV Character of Color, POV: Adebisi, Prequel, preslash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-03-10
Updated: 2012-03-10
Packaged: 2017-11-01 17:49:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,290
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/359599
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dustandroses/pseuds/dustandroses
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>Adebisi was African. He was like the wild dogs of Africa – distant cousins of these neutered mutts – vicious and deadly and impossible to tame.</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	Opportunity

**Author's Note:**

  * For [History_Gurl](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=History_Gurl).



> **Beta:** Ozsaur, my hero and shit  
>  **Notes:** Written for history_gurl for the LJ community Oz Magi, 2006. First posted on January 9, 2007.  
>  Written as the Prequel to _How To Train A Prag_ , but can be read independently.
> 
> **My Prompt:**  
>  **Character:** Simon Adebisi  
>  **Keyword:** opportunity  
>  **Canon/AU/Either:** Either  
>  **Special Requests:** What happens in Adebisi's mind when he sees a chance and takes it?

 

Adebisi leaned against the railing of the second floor of Emerald City, staring down at the inmates below him. They watched tv, played cards or checkers, or just sat around bullshitting with each other, passing barbs and jokes back and forth. He could divide them up into groups just by seeing who they sat near, who they followed around, who they kept their eyes on. They stayed in their packs, just like dogs, seeking safety in numbers.  
  
That thought made him smile. They were like dogs. Each pack following their leader – marking territory, squabbling over kills, fighting each other for their place in the order of things. But these dogs? They were the weak ones, domesticated, happy for a scratch behind the ears. For the chance of a kind word or a piece of bone with a bit of meat on it, they would roll over on their backs and expose their soft underbellies to their alphas or their owners.  
  
But not Adebisi. Simon Adebisi didn’t belong to anyone. Adebisi was African. He was like the wild dogs of Africa – distant cousins of these neutered mutts – vicious and deadly and impossible to tame. They’d tried to take his pride from him. They’d stuck him in this wretched place, and separated him from his own pack, and tried to weaken him until sometimes he wondered if he’d ever get out alive.  
  
But he’d never given up, and now he was back. Strong again, and ready. Ready for the next move. He’d worked hard for Nappa, and in the end the man had stabbed him in the back by destroying the closest thing Adebisi had ever had to family. Nappa had nodded, and Jarra had died. Through everything that followed, Adebisi had hung on to that memory. In the end he’d had his revenge. Now Nappa was gone and Adebisi was still here.  
  
His pride told him to stand tall against Pancamo, Wangler, el Cid - to fight them all for his rightful place in this pack. But for now, there was only him – there was no one to watch his back. If he was going to rule this bunch of mongrels, he’d have to be subtle and cunning.  
  
Adebisi knew from long experience that you didn’t just sit back and wait for opportunity to come to you. As he had with Nappa, and Schibetta before him, the best solution was always to make the first move. Once he’d set in motion the events that would lead to his victory, all he would have to do was stand back and watch it happen.  
  
He’d pit them all against each other, use their strong points and take advantage of their weaknesses. And when the winner finally scrambled to the top he’d find Adebisi already there. Let them squabble with each other – he’d keep his eyes open, and when the right moment came, he’d be ready.  
  
  


* * *

  
  
Adebisi leaned against the wall in the kitchen’s storage area, his body hidden by rows of creamed corn and sliced carrots, shelves of plastic spoons and paper cups. He’d been watching Wangler all day, something was up. Whatever was wrong, he knew that it would have an impact on his future, on all their futures.  
  
So he studied Kenny. There was more to this one than youthful vigor and false bravado. There was a strength to him that reminded Adebisi of the children of his own home. It wasn’t easy to grow up in the jungles of America. Different challenges, different dangers, but the things that drove you were the same as in the open savannas and dense jungles of Nigeria. Hunger, fear, pride, anger – in the end, it all came down to which of these things you let rule you.  
  
This child needed discipline. If he was going to survive a jungle like Oz, he needed to be guided and taught how to make himself strong. He needed the hand of someone older and wiser. He wouldn’t take to it readily, but Adebisi knew that eventually Kenny would accept his leadership. It didn’t matter if he wanted it or not – in the end Kenny would realize that he needed Adebisi, and Adebisi would show him how to find his way.  
  
Junior and Poet walked away, leaving the boy alone as he lit the candle on a cupcake and sang softly to himself. Adebisi smiled. You’re not really alone, Kenny. You’ve got me – you just don’t know it yet. He slipped out and walked up behind Kenny, planting his hand firmly on Kenny’s neck as he finished the song for the boy.  
  
“Happy Birthday to you.”  
  
  


* * *

  
  
Adebisi could hear the drums playing in his head. Sometimes they were soft, a gentle background beat that reminded him of home. But sometimes they were loud and powerful, driving him on and making it hard to concentrate on anything but the pulsing beat that flooded his body and pounded in his brain.  
  
He could keep them under control for the most part. But sometimes, when he felt threatened or when his rage was closest to the surface, he wondered how everyone around him could be deaf to the rhythms in his head. His time in the psych ward had taught him well: if you don’t tell them about the sounds, then they don't exist.  
  
And it’s not like the drums were bad. The drums were his guides and gave him strength. They reminded him that he was powerful and brave, and in the end, Africa’s son would have his way. He kept his eyes on his enemies. Pancamo and his cronies played their Pinocchio/Pinochle game and spoke in low tones of better times and distant homes – respect and honor among thieves. El Cid and his compadres lounged at a different table, laughing in their own lilting language, speaking to each other in a rapid tongue that reminded him of nothing more than the chattering of birds. He joined them and they talked of plans – how to make violence look like an accident.  
  
When McManus crossed the room to speak to Kenny and his homeboys, Adebisi watched carefully. He couldn’t see what the man was saying, but it seemed to be important. He didn’t think the distress Kenny showed McManus was real, and when he left, Kenny, Junior and Poet started to laugh. Then Adebisi knew he was right. They were playing McManus, trying to get something. He’d have to find out what.  
  
He’d already set his plan in motion – both the wops and the spics were ready to move whenever he said the word. Maybe this was the moment he’d been waiting for. Suddenly he felt like his whole body was vibrating –filled with energy. He’d been waiting for a sign that the time was right to make his move, and now he knew. Whatever it was they were planning, he would find a way to make it fit into his schemes, and the homeboys would only know when it was too late to do anything about it.  
  
  


* * *

  
  
Adebisi watched Kenny walk up the stairs, followed by the hack, and he settled himself on his bunk, covering his head with a blanket to hide the broad smile he couldn’t conceal. He heard the hiss of the lock and the change in air pressure as the door opened then closed again with Kenny inside.  
  
“Junior, what up? Junior, why we in lockdown? Yo!”  
  
Kenny pulled back the blanket and Adebisi looked him over. In his funeral suit and tie, he looked just like a little boy pretending to be a grown-up. He jumped back into the corner when he saw Adebisi and the shock on his face made Adebisi smile.  
  
“Welcome back, Kenny.”  
  
Time to teach the boy to be a man.

 

**Author's Note:**

> All the lines of dialogue in the story are direct quotes from the transcript of _U.S. Male_ (Season Three, Episode Five), written by Tom Fontana  & Bradford Winters.


End file.
